


Whispers in the Wood

by misfitmonarchy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Gen, M/M, Mage Stiles Stilinski, Magic is illegal AU, Magical stiles, Merlin AU, kind of, kingdom au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 21:57:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15694146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misfitmonarchy/pseuds/misfitmonarchy
Summary: Mages are not taken to kindly in most circles, those who defend them seem to either mysteriously disappear in the nights or are jailed for crimes they did not commit. As such, it did not take long before the supporters for mages dwindled away and all word of magic itself was scrubbed away from memory.Stiles remembers, because he’s been in hiding since birth. The day his magic manifested into his body, it burned away his innocence away and forced him to this nomadic life.





	Whispers in the Wood

**Author's Note:**

> I planned on making this longer before I posted it but I really love it and hope you guys will too! Not sure when it will be continued but most likely it will be soon

The leaves filter out the light like a mesh blanket draped over the the world around him. It feels more like being in a large green cavern as opposed to a forest, though that might just be because the trees seem to bend to him in greeting. They always have, as all living things will when they meet a mage, at least the ones who still recall magic. 

It’s been a forgotten practice since the Queen has taken upon the throne. She found that there was no place in their society for magic and it’s kin nearly a century back. Since then it’s been outlawed in most cities and towns. One can lose a finger or two for simply lighting their hearths these days. 

The forest is a much more welcome place than any town ever has been for the mage, though. So he doesn’t mind that he’s got nowhere else to be. His mother has long since passed, gone in a strike of grief that the mage has firmly sealed away in a dark back corner of his mind. His father? Well, the story goes that he too is dead. It’s safer for them both that way.

Mages are not taken to kindly in most circles, those who defend them seem to either mysteriously disappear in the nights or are jailed for crimes they did not commit. As such, it did not take long before the supporters for mages dwindled away and all word of magic itself was scrubbed away from memory. 

Yet the mage remembers. He remembers because he’s been in hiding since birth. The day his magic manifested into his body, it burned away his innocence away and forced him to this nomadic life. 

He could not stay in a small farming village when it posed threat to every family there for him to even exist. Publicly the Queen has not declared war on mages, but only just. In all terms except spoken directly from her majesty’s lips, magic is outlawed and mages are to be hanged or worse. 

The trees here are old, the brown haired mage can tell because they fear him naught. He bows his head in return, thanking them in their tongue for passage. His goal right now is to find some place off the main road where he can make camp without worry of company. 

 _‘This way’_  a voice whispers on the wind. The mage knows better than to disregard the direction of the oaks. He follows the way a non-existing breeze blows the leaves in. It leads him off the road and down into the brush to his left. There is no path here, but the whispering of the trees are never wrong. Only a fool would ignore their call. 

The mage nearly trips over his feet on the steep descent of leaf strewn forest floor. As he treks in the direction he was instructed, he notices the animals are watching him. Curious as they are, they must also be young ones. They do not look away with disinterest as the animals in the woods near his home, who are used to his scent that rings a little less-than-human. It must be strange for them to see a man who is not completely a man. 

A mage is the mix of magic and man, thus they are not creature nor human but the balance in between. The gray area between the black and the white that so many see the world in. They fill the cracks between the two and keep the bigger picture from crumbling. 

 _‘This way…’_ The trees call again. Their leaves egg him on in forward, to his right a little and through a small brook. It gurgles and bubbles with a clarity the mage has not seen before. He knows better than to take from the forest that which it has not offered though, and leaves what looks like the home of a kelpie; and keeps going. 

The wind picks up, a hand at his back pushing him forward. The man can feel his gut churn in a familiar burn that he’s grown to trust over the years. It usually isn’t wrong. He moves faster as the forest guides him, as the urgency of the land begins to worry him that something might be wrong. 

Forests are known to be wise and sneaky. They will trick you into doing their bidding but if you should follow it, the forest will reward you. If the trees are this desperate for help, something must be awfully wrong. 

 _‘There…’_  The wind whispers to him, pulling against his cloak and stopping the mage from going any further. It wouldn’t have mattered, because the mage has already come to a full stop, his breath rushing out of him in a whoosh of horror. 

The matron tree of the forest, one that grows larger and taller than any other, is usually known as a Beacon. A Nemeton, here so close to the main roads, seems preposterous that it could be untouched for so long. The mage comes closer, eyes wide and aware that the forest watches him eagerly. 

Something is wrong with the matron tree. Her leaves are wilting, changing with the season as it grows colder. The trouble with this, the mage knows, is that Nemeton’s don’t change with the seasons. They are the supplier of life to the rest of the forest, offer homes to burrows of animals for the winter and bestow the very first blossoms on each tree with life. 

The mage places his hand against the bark, flinching when he feels her pain. 

“What’s happened to you?” He whispers in abject horror. She weeps to him a sad song, and steals his breath with a vision. The mage feels his eyes burn with a familiar light as his magic processes the knowledge the matron gives him. 

_Soldiers entered the wood from the North-West and with them was a mage. She stands tall with a wicked aura, one that the trees can see better than any one magic user ever could._

_The Nemeton leads them away from her grove, but the woman is intelligent. She is able to see through their tricks, is able to get past blowing winds that scare the humans in her company._

_She only laughs when roots trip up their horses._

_“It’s here.” Her voice is smokey and cruel._ One that speaks not it’s mother tongue, as her words are capped in a thick accent of a language the mage does not recognize. _The trees remember her, they have seen her before._ They show him a head full of blond tresses and blue eyes that squint in animosity, hand in hand with a naive black haired boy. 

_“Are you sure?”  
_

_“Yes, Christopher. Now bring me the scroll.” The leader of their troop dismounts his horse, his silver armor glints in the light of the sun._ The memory seems to be in midst of last winter, because the other trees in the memory are bare of their leaves. 

 _Christopher hands the woman the scroll, a fat thing that she unrolls and approaches the matron._ The mage can feel the fear and anger of her forest as such an unworthy woman enters her circle with not even a bow in respect of the land she’s trespassing on. 

_The soldiers shift nervously as the a nymph steps away from the matron’s bark. She’s been the tasked protector of their matron for two centuries. A battle breaks out when the woman refuses the demands of the forest to leave._

_The memory distorts and shows clashes of light and fire as the female mage fights against the defender._

_“Katharina!”  
_

_“I’m fine Christopher!” She growls back to the soldiers who watch in horror._ The fight continues until the mage is forced to look away. The Nemeton begs the man to watch though, and he cannot deny her.  _The mage defeats the nymph, who collapses in a mess of flame, ash and screams of agony._

_“By God-” A soldier says in fear.  
_

_“There is no God in these wood.” Replies another, a hand holding a small silver cross in his armored hand. The chain moving with the raging wind is the only sound as Katharina approaches the Nemeton’s roots._

_She reads off the scroll in a very old and lost tongue. The trees have not heard it before, but it does not matter. They cannot stop the dark magic that the mage- no that this_ **witch**   _is casting. It sinks a black poisonous magic into the ground, melting away snow and any remnants of plant life away. The Nemeton fears for her children and takes the blow for herself. Should the forest die, it would be a tragedy she could not bear. Should she die, her children would live until another matron came to take her place._

_The memory ends in a cacophony of screams of agony from the forest who beg their mother to share the burden._

“Oh my poor maiden… What has she done to you?” The mage cannot hold back the tears that fall as his fingers lift away from the bark. He looks down at her roots and can still see char marks from where the fight must have taken place. He kneels before the Nemeton, sharing her grief and overwhelmed by the emotions of the memory. 

It would take a very dark magic to be able to do what this ‘Katharina’ had done. He knows not how to repair the damage but he presses a soothing hand on her gnarled roots. 

“How can I help?” He asks, knowing that the trees would not show him this for no reason. “I offer to you my aide in anyway you need it.” The mage swears, burning with grief for their fallen protector. 

The trees whisper around him but to the mage it only sounds like rustling leaves. He decides at the very least, he can give their fallen nymph a proper tomb. He follows the footsteps of the memory, and finds that in the place where the nymph perished is a small sapling. 

He removes his hood, revealing his pale mole kissed skin to the autumn sunlight. The bitter air bites at his face, but the mage doesn’t mind it. He kneels before the young sapling. It’s too young to understand the world of magic it’s saturated in, and it’s past life is unbeknownst to the child. The watchful eyes of the matron follow him as he begins to cast a blessing. 

 _“Gall yr aer gario'ch ysbryd yn ysgafn.”_  A gust of air leaves his fingers, kissing the tree carefully before fading away. _“Efallai y bydd y tân yn rhyddhau'ch enaid.”_ A wisp of flame jumps from his fingers to ground around the tree, burning white yet it does not leave any lingering damage.  _“May y dŵr eich glanhau. May y ddaear eich derbyn.“_  The fire melts into the earth leaving a black ring of smoke around the baby sapling while the mage pours out a drink of water from his pouch onto the plant. 

The magic that courses through him as the blessing winds itself around the small tree makes his eyes burn as they always do when he uses his gift. The mage takes a handful of soil from around the Nemeton’s roots before pressing it over the base of where the sapling grows.  _“Gadewch i'r olwyn droi eto a dod â chi i ailadeiladu.“_  With a wave of his hands, the spell is cast, intricate white threads of magic intertwine and then fade into the thin bark of the new tree. 

It’s not much, but it’s a proper burial ceremony if nothing else. The mage knows this won’t bring back the matron’s beloved champion who died while protecting her; but if nothing else it will cleanse any ill will that remains there. 

The drain of energy it takes makes the mage weary but the matron invites him closer. He falls asleep upon her roots, protected by her sickly gaze. Though the poison continues to kill her, she is old and strong, and can bear it for a while longer. As thanks for blessing her child, she watches over the young Mieczyslaw, Son of Noah and Claudine while he rests. 

_To be continued..._

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [misfitmonarchythings](https://misfitmonarchythings.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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